The Best That I Can Hope to Find
by Liete
Summary: -US/UK, AU- 'It was things like that, the little things, that made living with Arthur so difficult. He was too fussy about the stupidest of things. The things that did matter were the things that Arthur didn't care about or, if he did, he never showed it.'


**The Best That I Can Hope to Find  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: I found this in my fanfic folder mostly finished, so I thought I'd go ahead and finish it!**

* * *

Alfred placed the last box on the living room floor and sighed. His new apartment was much smaller than the previous one, but it was all he could afford on his own until he could line up another roommate.

The first box he opened was full of trinkets from that previous arrangement, though Alfred supposed there was no need to lie to himself, even in his head. Arthur, his former roommate, was also his boyfriend—though whether he should be called an ex or not was yet unknown. Alfred had opted to leave before things got too ugly. Time apart would help, he'd reasoned. He hadn't waited for Arthur to agree or disagree before he started packing his things.

Alfred pulled out photo albums, souvenirs from the various places he'd visited, whether with Arthur or not, and decorative items that he didn't need, but decided to take with him anyway. After a while, seeing all of the traces of Arthur in everything he pulled out became too much and he had to push the box aside. He looked at the other boxes and sighed, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor instead.

He could find a better place for the couch, never mind that he'd already moved it about four times. Each time he caught himself thinking that Arthur wouldn't approve of the placement—too close to the TV, too far from a window, too close to the door, not perpendicular enough with the adjacent table—all things Alfred knew he didn't care about.

It was things like that, the little things, that made living with Arthur so difficult. He was too fussy about the stupidest of things. The things that did matter were the things that Arthur didn't care about or, if he did, he never showed it. He would always wave things off as ridiculous or unnecessary. Alfred was childish in Arthur's eyes—always wanting only what he wanted with no regard for anyone else.

Alfred stood, leaving the boxes in the middle of the floor for a moment so he could step onto the balcony and look at the city beneath him. It was a huge place with a lot of people he could meet and he was hung up on a stuffy Englishman who couldn't even say "I like you" without acting like it was the most difficult task of his life. He could let go. It would mean freedom to do what he wanted when he wanted without Arthur lecturing him.

"And I could have anyone I wanted, too," he told himself, speaking out loud in an effort to convince himself that it was indeed true. Anyone else in the world would be happy to date him, happy to live with him.

Never mind that everyone he'd asked to be his roommate had declined, and declined very quickly at that.

Inside his pocket, his phone vibrated and he pulled it out expecting it to be his cousin, Matthew, calling to say that he was bringing over some furniture that Alfred could use until he could buy some of his own.

Instead Arthur's name shone in the caller ID. Alfred frowned. For a moment he contemplated answering it. Maybe Arthur would beg him to come home. Maybe Arthur would tell him he loved him and how it had been a mistake to let him leave. He knew, though. Arthur was just going to lecture him again. Arthur would tell him that it was silly to move out like that, because there was no way he'd be able to make it on his own. He was too stupid or too reckless or too—

Alfred grunted and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Eventually the voicemail chime rang, but Alfred ignored it. He was going to be just fine—better, for not being with Arthur anymore. He wanted to be a boyfriend, not someone's punching bag. He wanted love and fun, not mechanical kisses and sex with the occasional forced outing.

Even so, as he stepped back inside his tiny apartment, he found himself thinking that the couch really was too close to the TV. He started to push it again, only to stop and fall backwards onto it. He pulled off his glasses and pressed the back of his closed fist to his eyes.

His laugh was bitter—hollow. He had a new place, a new start. He could put on his favorite shirt and style his hair and go out on the town. He might not find a roommate, but he might find a man or woman to warm his bed for the night.

Instead, he knew, he would spend the evening trying to find the right place for the couch.


End file.
